


Christmas Grace

by torianmist



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Implied Child Abuse, M/M, Snow, first kiss that counts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:42:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torianmist/pseuds/torianmist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'm only going to say this once, Steve and you don't get to question me. And if you repeat it, I will deny it all.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Grace

Candle light soft and delicate as summer rain set a golden glow to the nave of the old church throwing shadows to the corners and setting the tall arches of the transepts into wavering relief. Solid, rough-hewn walls and the sweet, high voices of the small choir covered the sounds of Manhattan during rush hour in a thick canopy of peace. Steve didn't know what had made him come here on this particular evening, there had been an itch under his skin all day. For no rhyme or reason he just knew that he needed to be here tonight. Sliding further into the darkened pew, he leaned his head back and closing his eyes, let the enveloping sound of the choir and the stillness of the church settle over him. It was the subtle change in air pressure that had him turn. The heavy oak doors, closed against the chill of snowfall pushed open slightly and Steve swallowed the soft, involuntary sound that escaped him as Tony slipped into the knave. Steve stared wonderingly. Tony had been introspective for days, answering to his name if spoken to but otherwise setting himself apart from the others with his eyes far away and distant, fingers often running absently through his hair, lip pulled meditatively into his mouth. 

 

Steve had kissed that mouth once. The playing field of a local school transformed by the frigid night haze and smoke into a skeletal and hellish landscape, the chaotic fallout from an intense battle, Tony bruised and bleeding. As always, Tony had fought having his injuries tended to and Steve had led him, fingers curled loosely around Tony's resisting wrist, to a quiet area near a ball court wall and had taken Tony's face in his hands turning him, wiping at the blood pouring from a ragged gash over Tony's eye with a scrap of material torn from his own undershirt. Tony had stood frighteningly still, eyes watchful and unsure. Their faces so close, breaths inhaled on a sharp, cutting pain and exhaled on a cloud of heat in the cold air. Turning to a cut on the corner of Tony's mouth, Steve had given in to the thrum of adrenaline coursing through his veins the pull of a long curiosity and the soft curve of Tony's lower lip being close, so close and had laid his mouth gently over Tony's. Tony had been passive and pliable, allowing Steve to take from him as he tasted the man fully, long fingers sifting through sweat soaked hair and slipping down to fold over his jaw. It wasn't until Tony returned the kiss, his tongue, warm and slick curling over Steve's, the taste of him so sweet and honest, that reality had intruded and Steve had pulled away, his hands dropping to his sides, panic twisting through his gut and he turned on his heel, crossing back to the screaming neon smear of flashing emergency lights. They never spoke of it, but Tony had pulled away for days at a time and Steve revisited that evening in his dreams frequently.

 

Always alert to Tony's every movement, Steve knew that he hadn't been down to his lab for at least a day or two and this morning Steve had happened upon him curled up in a corner of the large couch; a book, dog eared and obviously well loved dangling from limp fingers as Tony stared heavy eyed across the spires and towers of New York, seemingly transfixed by the swirls of snow that hit the tall windows in sporadic bursts of intricate patterns as they transformed the metal and glass of a modern city into the willowy, reaching landscape of fantasy and lore. Steve had tried over and again in the past few days to catch Tony's attention, to pull him back to them, stop Tony from falling further behind the gauzy veil of emotion surrounding him but dark eyes had slid away from Steve's face, a shade of unspoken pain coloring them, his mouth set in a firm line.  
Now Steve watched silently as Tony lit a single candle then moved into a pew and crossed himself in a seamless, unconscious move before sitting with his head bowed. Moving forward and crossing his arms on the pew in front of him, Steve lay his head down, the gentle shifting curl of candle's and the lilting alto's of the choir enveloping him in a blanket of surreal warmth and sound as he took in this side of his friend he hadn't even contemplated before. Tony Stark was a man of science and reality, to see him so obviously comfortable in a church threw Steve, altered his view of the man he thought he knew. Shifting his body slightly gave him a better view of Tony's profile. The dark eyes he knew so well were closed, long lashes sweeping in shadowed arcs over cheekbones that were brushed with the blush of true Winter cold.. There was no evidence of the public Mr. Stark here. No suits of sharp lines and immaculately cut fine fabric. Tony was dressed simply in dark jeans and a thick gray sweater, a long, heavy, unbuttoned wool coat of deep charcoal around his shoulders and soft looking black boots and his dark hair was flecked with a halo of snow. Steve pulled himself back into shadow as Tony raised his head, his hands coming to his face and rubbing over his eyes. He sucked in a breath as Tony glanced over in his direction and released it slowly as Tony moved out of the pew and pulling his coat around him headed to the door.

 

Steve was torn. He had caught a glimpse of Tony's eyes as he passed and even cast in shadow his grief and sadness were etched on his face, light glistening fleetingly over tear tracks. Should he respect the distance and solitude Tony had sought by coming here or answer the growing need to go to his friend? Affection won out and Steve pushed to his feet following Tony's path through the knave only to pull up sharply and step behind a pillar as he entered the narthex and came across Tony talking in low tones to the Father of the church. Snatches of conversation reached him confusing him at first, dissonance fading as he recognized the language and realized Tony was conversing in fluent Italian. Steve knew a few words here and there but not enough to keep up, French and German were his forte. His brow wrinkled as he heard the name Carbonell. He knew that name. Boots on gravel and an opening door snapped him back as the Father moved back into the church and Tony headed around into the parking lot.

 

By the time Steve caught up, Tony was sitting in a his Bentley under the corona of a streetlamp. The heels of his hands were pushed into his eyes, shoulders slumped forward as his elbows rested against the steering wheel. Hesitating only a second, Steve crossed the lot and knocked on the passenger window stepping back reflexively as Tony's head snapped up, his body twisting rapidly and his left palm raised in a familiar gesture. The snow muffled sounds, the silence as thick as the tension between them as Tony's eyes locked with his and a kaleidoscope of emotion crossed his face. Steve let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding when Tony sighed and with a graceful gesture of his wrist the car unlocked. Pulling the door open, Steve wavered, unsure now of his welcome. Huffing out a another sigh, Tony looked steadily at him.

“You're getting wet right?”

Steve nodded slowly. Tony beckoned at him.

“Then get in.”  
   
The car was warm and dry, the resonance of expensive leather and expert craftsmanship cradling and secreting them away from the outside world. Tony settled sideways in his seat, knees pulled up to his chest, head resting atop them as he looked across at Steve, his dark eyes watchful in the muted light of the streetlamp.  
Steve's voice caught in his throat at the open vulnerability he saw there. This was Tony at his most defenseless and Steve wanted nothing more to reach over and touch. He had once, but the thought of losing what they had clawed their way through months of animosity and pain to achieve had terrified him and he had ran way, a move he knew had hurt Tony deeply and he would forever regret it. 

He wanted this man, desired him, needed him both as a friend and potential lover but he wasn't at all sure that Tony would allow him another chance and the aura of 'don't touch' that Tony was currently sending out was strong and so Steve tucked his hands under his legs as he turned to mirror Tony's position and waited. Tony's voice when he finally spoke was rough and low.

“You want to know why I'm here.”

Steve opened his mouth to say...something, anything, but Tony cut him off.

“I meant it when I said I didn't cry at my father's funeral.”

Steve's eyes widened in surprise. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. Tony rubbed his hands over his thighs, a sure tell that he was nervous, on ground he wasn't comfortable with.

“People seem to forget that I had two parents, Steve.” Tony said softly, his eyes filling as he blinked rapidly.

And the penny dropped. The name he had heard Tony say in the church, combined with those huge eyes that Steve knew weren't inherited from Howard. Tony had Maria's eyes.

“Your mother” he breathed out softly.

Tony nodded, his fingers worrying at the hem of his coat. His throat working as he tried to find words. Not even considering the ramifications, Steve reached out and ran his knuckles over Tony's jaw as Tony reached up with his free hand and rubbed his fingers over his eyes.

“You want to ..”

Steve began hesitantly. He didn't know how to approach this. A confident, strutting Tony was one thing, he could handle that with his eyes closed but a raw and open Tony, for this he had no game plan, no tactical maneuver. Tony shook his head, dark hair spilling over his forehead. He sucked in a shuddering breath and said quietly,

“This was her place to be when things got...” 

Tony hesitated, his hand drifting in a habitual manner that Steve was sure he wasn't aware of, to rub over his hipbone and Steve wondered that if he could see through the soft material of Tony's clothes, what he would find there? What scar and what had happened to give birth to both it and the remnant of fear in Tony's eyes when he rubbed at it, before Tony finished with 

“...complicated. Before I was sent off to school, I came too. She was always here at Christmas. Always,” His voice caught, his breathing ragged “And then one year, she wasn't.” 

Tears were running freely down Tony's cheeks now.

“I'm only going to say this once, Steve and you don't get to question me. And if you repeat it, I will deny it all.” He said roughly, waiting for Steve to nod in agreement before taking a deep breath and continuing. “My Mom was all the parent I had. My father...” Tony cleared his throat, his eyes sliding away from Steve, “ well, let's just say he wasn't there a lot and when he was,” again Tony's hand drifted low to his hip as he seemed to struggle to find the right words, “...he made his presence felt, yeah?” 

Steve nodded mutely, feeling sick to his stomach and fighting down a growing need to take Tony in his arms. Tony scrubbed his hands over his face and finished with “She may have been with him when she died, but really she was as alone as I was when they told me what had happened.”

Steve felt his own throat close up. He had seen the headlines in the archives. He knew the details. Instinctively, Steve reached out and laid his palm lightly along Tony's jawline. Tony took one last swipe of his hand over his face and looked up almost shyly.

“It's Christmas and...” His voice, already low, trailed off before he murmured, “sometimes a guy just needs to be near his mom is all.”

His eyes caught and held Steve's as Steve nodded gently, his palm still cupping Tony's jaw, his thumb now rubbing slowly along his cheek. Clearing his throat, Tony tried to straighten in his seat. Steve dropped his hand and tangled their fingers together. He wanted to know more. Was Maria the one who taught Tony to play the piano in the library of his suite that he swore he never touched but Steve had heard him playing softly late at night? Was she the one who fostered Tony's love of fantasy books? Taught him to speak Italian as a child? Steve looked over at Tony, back lit by snow and the pale amber of the lamplight. That dark spill of hair called to him. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and... He wanted....too much.

He settled back in his seat and flickered his tongue quickly over suddenly dry lips. His breathing hitching as he noticed Tony's eyes following the motion. Reaching over he gave into temptation and pushed Tony's hair back out of his eyes. Raising his head, a white spiral of heat clutching at his spine, Steve locked his eyes on Tony. Dark eyes gazed steadily back at him and praying he wasn't reading this moment wrong, Tony had every reason in the world to doubt Steve's intentions, to not be willing to trust Steve with his heart again, Steve tangled his fingers in Tony's thick hair and slowly, giving Tony all the time he needed to pull away, tugged the man gently to him. Lowering his head, Steve licked at Tony's lips, slow sips of a kiss and when Tony parted them on a soft exhale, slid his tongue into the slick heat of Tony's mouth. Moaning low in his chest,Steve breathed raggedly through his nose as Tony's tongue tentatively, so, so tentatively curled languidly over his own. Low tension sweetly building and simmering, Steve bought his fingers up to the curve of Tony's jaw, ran the tip of his finger over the soft swell of Tony's lower lip, slipping inside to tease at his tongue as Tony moaned quietly and opened his legs as he urged Steve closer to him with a hand on his shoulder. Nothing would have made Steve happier than to lower Tony to his back and kiss him all night in the small and intimate retreat from the world that they had created but Tony was emotionally exhausted and they needed to talk. Slowing the kiss and tracing the high arch of Tony's cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, Steve said quietly against Tony's mouth,

“Home?” 

Tony closed his eyes briefly as he leaned slightly into Steve's touch, then nodded briefly and turning in his seat reached forward and started up the car, cutting his eyes to Steve's and holding them.

“With you?” He murmured.

Steve held his breath, sent up a short and intense Christmas prayer and nodded, as he twined his fingers with Tony's. The tension bled from his body when a second later Tony offered a small smile and a slow answering nod.

“Okay then”. Tony said softly as his hand dropped to shift, fingers still tangled with Steve's as he backed the car up and drove them out of the parking lot and onto the road that would lead them home.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this last Christmas but I was never truly happy with it. It felt incomplete and broken. Hopefully it will make more sense now. At least, to me, it feels complete now.


End file.
